Page 20

CHAPTER 20

CASPIAN

After finishing our pancakes, I follow Nate to his workshop. I spot the two abandoned cups of coffee from earlier sitting on a side table, and heat rises to my cheeks as I remember what followed after we were last here. The memory of Nate’s hands on my skin, his lips on mine, sends a pleasant shiver down my spine.

I’m enveloped by the rich scent of wood and varnish. It hits me then. This is the scent that clings to Nate’s clothes, the one I caught hints of when we were close and still remains in the coat I borrowed. No wonder it feels so familiar and comforting already. It’s become synonymous with him in my mind: earthy, natural, and somehow both rugged and refined.

Nate moves with purpose through the space, examining pieces of wood laid out on a shelf.

“What are you looking for?” I ask, watching him run his fingers over various pieces.

“Something with the right grain pattern,” he murmurs, his focus never wavering. “Each piece of wood has its own character. You just have to find the one that fits what you want to create.”

When he finally selects a piece, handling it with surprising gentleness, I sit on his workbench, crossing my legs and settling in to watch. There’s something mesmerizing about the way he studies the wood, turning it over in his hands. It’s beautiful.

I think back to how this day has unfolded. This morning, I was just planning on clearing my driveway, opening Special Blend for a few hours, and then working through my soft-opening to-do list.

And now? Now I’m staring at the man who is coming to mean something to me while trying to reconcile the circumstances of how we first met.

Does he go to Burlington for hookups often, or was that night just a happy accident? Despite everything I’ve come to know about my past since my mom died, I’m still a romantic at heart. Maplewood, with its LGBTQ+-friendly small-town charm, is the perfect place to find someone to share my life with. But what if the person I want isn’t looking for the same thing?

Stop it, Caspian. You’re overthinking things.

“What are you making?” I ask, trying to peek around his shoulder at the piece he’s working on.

“You’ll see,” he murmurs, totally focused on his work. His hands move with practiced precision, each stroke of the tool deliberate and sure. Wood shavings curl away from the piece, falling to the floor like delicate ribbons.

I watch, mesmerized by the way his forearms flex with each movement. The comfortable silence between us feels intimate, broken only by the soft scraping of his tools against the wood and our steady breathing.

Time seems to slow, and I find myself studying the way the winter light streaming through the windows catches in his hair, highlighting strands of gold among the brown. The concentrated furrow of his brow makes me want to reach out and smooth it with my finger.

Finally, Nate sets down his tools and turns to me, holding out his creation. “It needs a finishing coat, but…” He trails off, suddenly seeming uncertain.

I take the piece from his hands, and my breath catches in my throat. It’s a beautifully carved coffee bean, about the size of my palm, split in half to reveal intricate details inside. But what makes my heart skip a beat are the words carefully etched into the surface: Special Blend , and beneath it, Caspian Lane .

“Nate,” I whisper, running my fingers over the delicate lettering. “This is…incredible.”

Without thinking, I slide off the workbench and move to straddle him where he sits on his stool. He smiles, his hands resting lightly on my hips, steadying me.

“Thank you,” I murmur, carefully setting the carving aside on the workbench. “No one’s ever made me something like this before.”

“It’s nothing,” he says gruffly, but I can see the pleased flush on his cheeks.

“It’s everything.” I lean in and kiss him.

He wraps his arms around me, pulling me closer as he deepens the kiss. His lips are urgent and demanding, and he tastes faintly of coffee from earlier. One of his hands slides up my back to cradle my head, and I melt into him, my fingers curling into the soft fabric of his flannel shirt.

Our mouths move in perfect sync, tongues tangling. Heat pools low in my belly.

I break the kiss, panting. “Fuck, Nate. I want you so bad.”

His eyes are dark with desire as they lock onto mine. “Me too, Cas. I can’t get enough of you.”

A thrill runs through me at the roughness in his voice. I trail my fingers down his chest, feeling the muscles jump beneath my touch. Nate groans, dropping his forehead to my shoulder. “You’re killing me here.”

I laugh, giddy with want. “That’s kind of the point.”

He lifts his head, a wicked grin spreading across his face. “Well, in that case…” His hands slide down to grip my hips, pulling me flush against him.

I gasp at the friction, my hips bucking involuntarily. God, I’ve never wanted anyone like this before.

“Like that?” he murmurs, nipping at my earlobe.

“Mm-hmm,” I manage, tilting my head to give him better access. “More please.”

His lips trail down my neck as his hands roam over my body. I arch into his touch, desperate for more contact. My skin feels electric wherever he touches me.

“You’re so responsive,” Nate says appreciatively. “So sensitive.”

Nate’s fingers dance across my stomach, sending shivers up my spine as they reach the waistband of my jeans. My breath catches as he slowly drags the zipper down, the metal teeth parting with a soft rasp.

“Is this what you want?” he murmurs, eyes locked on mine.

I nod eagerly, my voice breathy. “Please, Nate.”

His hand slips inside, and I gasp at the sensation. The warmth of his palm against the soft skin of my cock is electric, setting every nerve ending alight.

I buck into his touch, desperate for more friction. “You too,” I pant.

“Keep your hands on my shoulders,” he commands.

All I can do is watch as he pulls the waistband of his joggers down to reveal his flushed cock. Fuck, he’s so big, and now that I know how he feels inside me, I’m torn between letting him continue or asking him to fuck me again. I don’t think I’ll cope with stopping, so I stay as I am.

I’m unable to form words as Nate wraps his hand around both of us. The feeling of skin on skin, of being pressed so intimately against him, is overwhelming.

“Oh fuck,” I whimper, my hips jerking involuntarily.

Nate sets a steady rhythm, his grip firm but gentle. I match his movements, our bodies moving in perfect synchronicity. It’s like we’re dancing, but so much more intense, more intimate.

“You love this, don’t you?” he asks, his free hand caressing my face. “You’re like an open book. Your body betrays you every single time.”

I lean into his touch.

My hands fly to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently.

“Off,” I pant. “Need to feel you.”

Nate chuckles, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down my spine.

He raises his arms, allowing me to pull the shirt over his head. As the fabric falls away, I’m struck by the contrast between his warm skin and the cool air of the room. Goosebumps rise on his flesh, and I can’t resist tracing them with my fingertips.

He reaches for my sweater, and I don’t hesitate, practically tearing it off in my haste. The moment it’s gone, I press myself against Nate, reveling in the skin-to-skin contact. The heat of his body is intoxicating.

I capture his lips in another kiss, pouring all my want, my need into it. It’s messy and a little desperate, but I don’t care. All I can focus on is the slide of his tongue against mine, the press of his body, and the way his hands roam my newly exposed skin.

“Nate,” I whisper, “I need… It’s not enough.”

He presses his forehead to mine, his breath warm on my face. “What do you need, Caspian? Tell me.”

“Just…more,” I answer, aware that it’s not very helpful, but it’s all I have right now.

Nate’s eyes darken with desire, and he nods, understanding my unspoken request. His free hand slides down my back, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. When his fingers brush against my entrance, I gasp, my body arching into his touch.

“You have a little hungry hole, don’t you?” he murmurs, his voice husky with want.

“God yes,” I breathe, pressing back against his hand.

He circles my hole with his finger, the touch featherlight but electrifying. I’m trembling now, caught between the incredible sensation of his hand on our cocks and the teasing promise of his finger.

I want to tell him how amazing this feels, but words fail me as he slowly pushes his finger inside. The stretch burns slightly, but in the best way possible. I moan, low and desperate, burying my face in the crook of his neck.

“That’s it,” Nate encourages, working his finger in and out slowly. “Let go for me, Caspian.”

The dual stimulation is overwhelming. I’m lost in a haze of pleasure, my hips rocking between Nate’s stroking hand and his probing finger. The tension builds rapidly, coiling tighter and tighter in my core.

“Nate, I’m close,” I pant against his skin. “I’m gonna?—”

“Come for me,” he urges, curling his finger just right.

That’s all it takes. The dam breaks, and I come hard. Waves of ecstasy crash over me, leaving me trembling and gasping in Nate’s arms. Through the haze of my release, I hear Nate’s sharp intake of breath, feel the way his body tenses against mine, and then his release joins mine between us.

For a moment, we stay as we are, catching our breath. I must be heavy on his lap, but he’s not pushing me away, so I’m going to take advantage.

I turn my head to look at Nate, taking in his flushed cheeks and mussed hair. A bubble of laughter rises in my chest.

“What’s so funny?” Nate asks, his voice husky.

“Nothing,” I say, grinning. “I just…really, really like snow days.”

Nate’s face softens, and he pulls me closer. “Me too, Cas. Me too.”